The Cathartic Void
by StirlingPageTurner
Summary: After speaking to The Catalyst, Elianah Shepard is faced with a final decision. In her moment of clarity and in her own voice, she reflects on the events and choices that led to this. This is a mature, dramatic canon based on the ME trilogy and goes *beyond* what is seen in combat. All characters will appear throughout as it unfolds. (Input is welcome; thanks for reading!)
1. Prologue -- Lucid

"The Cathartic Void" by S.P. Turner

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***Disclaimer: The property of Mass Effect and its Universe belong solely to Bioware. I am merely a fan who has been inspired by its contents and build a fictional story of my own. I am proud to share it with fellow gamers, readers and fans of the Mass Effect Universe.***

((Prologue Song: "Time" by Hans Zimmer))

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Prologue – Lucid

They say you only live twice. They say that your life flashes before your eyes when you die. They say to look for a white light. Humans say a lot of things, most of them platitudes that have been spouted for centuries. It's interesting how those who describe death are ones who have yet to experience it for themselves. In my opinion, the best explanation of death's inevitability was provided by an archaic yet famous British poet:

"_For the sword outwears its sheath, and the soul wears out the breast. And the heart must pause to breathe, and love itself have rest." – Lord Byron_

For years in the field, I've faced death. Every day I've managed to delay it. Now it ends here, and I've never been as certain of it as I am at this moment. My sword, my body and certainly my soul are very weary. Here I stand at the greatest precipice of my existence and I find my mind drifting. Before my mother was taken from me, she said to be careful of my actions, for many would know me by my deeds. Perhaps she spoke of the decision that I am about to make – the single choice that will affect every organic and synthetic being forever. Both this choice and my death will cast a shadow on the galaxy, but of what shape? Shadows are silhouettes that haunt and endlessly follow, reminding us always of who and what we are.

A dear friend of mine was making a time capsule of sorts, saying that if the worst came to pass, a record of the galaxy could be passed on. "How do you want to be remembered?" she asked. I let her decide. The truth of my two lives is not one that will ever be captured in a holo or datapad, nor through word-of-mouth. The story will be twisted and distorted for years to come. But what will the truth matter to them when the lie brings so much more comfort and joy? I will be thought of as the savior of the galaxy, as a paragon, as legend. I am none of those things, yet that is the shadow that they will choose to see. At the edge of this abyss, I see my own shadow and no longer does it haunt me. Rather it is a faithful mirror or my own making, and never has my reality been so transparent. I see all I was, all that I am, and how all of it has led to this moment. There was only one choice from the start, and only on my terms will I now make it.

Dying here and watching this war play itself out is the best death that I could have asked for. No, I am not afraid to die, nor am I afraid of my own shadow. Some like to say that you begin dying as soon as you're born. So if I am to tell you my entire truth, I suppose I should start at the beginning of the end…


	2. Chapter 1 -- Harvest

"The Cathartic Void" by S.P. Turner

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***Note: This chapter has some light, but strong language. For mature readers only.***

((Chapter Song: "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift))

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Chapter 1 – Harvest

On the eleventh day of April in the year 2154, Elijah and Hannah Shepard received the one gift they had longed for: a child. The trail of tears was long, and marked with blood along the way. At last, the Shepards' prayer was answered by their God. My father preferred a son, but he made due with me. My mother reminded him through the years of that age-old expression, "Beggars can't be choosers." I was an unexpected surprise, but a welcome one nonetheless. They wanted me to be the best of both worlds, so to speak. From my father, I would gain his determination, his persistence, and his spirit. From my mother, I would possess her zeal, her beauty, and her passion for life. Naturally came forth my name, Elianah, a marriage of both my parents' names.

I was raised on Mindoir, the home of a human farming colony. It was far too old-fashioned for my taste. By the time I was born, mass effect physics had been around for six years. The discovery of element zero and the construction of the mass relays made deep spacefaring possible. The galaxy was changing and there I was alienated from it all. Our colony as a whole wasn't terribly attached to the new technology; we only kept what was necessary and truly useful. It wasn't the upbringing I wanted, but it was a hell of a lot simpler. Still, I did my fair share of complaining.

Both of my parents had their way of pacifying me. Mother said that it was how we maintained our humble beginnings. Dear old Dad, on the other hand, was far more honest. "Too much of anything is bad for you, and technology is a luxury to people like us." I didn't come to understand what he meant until I turned fourteen. We were peaceful farmers, not fighters. We weren't dangerous, but the truth was the more you knew, the more people took notice. Our colony didn't want to risk attracting the wrong kind of attention, so I was homeschooled by my mother. She had her ways of acquiring educational materials, as she used to teach in what she commonly referred to as her "past life." My father was far more "street smart" and treated me like the son he would never have. Hunting and survival in the wild were his subjects of choice. This was all behind Hannah's back, of course. She wanted me to be an intelligent female for the betterment of the colony. Elijah preferred that I be tough and know how to respond in any life-threatening situation. It was up to me to find the common ground of self-sufficiency, and the truest test came at age sixteen.

The colony of Mindoir was of the mind that if it didn't bother anyone, no one would bother it. We were never a threat to much of anyone or anything, but that didn't keep us from becoming casualties of war…

I remember the smell of smoke in the air, feeling like the atmosphere was toxic to my lungs. The screams were so ear-piercing, they could've shattered glass. But it was the Batarians' onslaught that caused the colony's destruction. Fire and ashes were everywhere, adding dark splotches to my caramel skin from overexposure. It wasn't safe to stay in our home, so we ran from ditch to ditch. We couldn't stay anywhere for more than a day. Most homes were raided, burned down. As for the colonists, they suffered one of two fates: to be butchered or to be used for "invasive procedures" as a means to control.

Either way, you were dead.

Like I said, we were farmers, not fighters. While that didn't prevent the colonists from forming a resistance, it neither did much good. There was no safety in numbers, only slaughter. My mother was the first to go, fatally wounded during a skirmish between the resistance and Batarians. My father was tough as nails, but when we found her body, he became ruthless. If you looked deep enough into his eyes, you could see the dimmest shade of red. He wasn't my father anymore; he was Elijah.

One particular night, I wept uncontrollably and hyperventilated at the realization that my life and my very world was crashing around me. Everything was falling apart, everyone was dying and at any moment, I could be next. My mother was an empty, dead vessel. My father was a shell compared to the man he once was. I stifled my cries, but Elijah heard me and had enough.

He stood in front of me, feet firmly planted in the ground, while I was collapsed in the dirt. "Get up."

I was gasping for air to circulate to my lungs and brain, but I couldn't manage. It was as though I was drowning in a sea of self-pity. "I – I can't…! Can't… breathe!" I thought I was going to die right then and there, and part of me wanted to.

"Goddamn it…" Elijah replied with a heavy sigh. He grabbed me by my arms and yanked me off the ground. He shook me, like trying to wake a screaming child from a bad dream. "There's no time to cry! No time to mourn!"

His words rang hollow. I knew nothing, nothing by my own pain.

"Do you want to die?! DO YOU?"

I cried out, "No—" with tears streaming down my face.

"Then act like it!" He punctuated it with a cold slap to my face. No, this wasn't an act of child abuse. This was a man trying to save my life. "I didn't raise you this way! I raised you to be a Shepard!" He took several deep breaths to calm himself down and then clasped my hands. "I raised you like a son, but you are my daughter. Your mother is gone, and soon I will be too. That's the reality of this. Tomorrow morning, you need to be ready to move."

Sometimes it hurts to hear the truth, but I knew he was right. There was no law but that of the Batarians and I couldn't depend on an expedient arrival from the Alliance to save what was left of us. Surely they were en route or maybe even on the planet by now, but I knew with equal certainty that the Batarians were going to put up one hell of a fight. Even with the colony falling to pieces, even with death lurking… in that moment, I had my father back. I eventually fell asleep, sharing with him my favorite childhood memories. In exchange, he stroked dark red hair strands from my face, telling me his cherished moments with me and my mother. I can't recall the last time I slept that peacefully. He kept the night watch, as usual.

That was the last time I saw my father.

I woke up the next morning to the hints of sunlight hitting my face. Dawn was creeping through the trees. After I looked around, I knew he wasn't coming back. At the same time, I knew Elijah wouldn't leave without giving me a fighting chance. "Lesson one," I murmured, "Always by aware of your surroundings." I felt around in the dirt with my hands until I felt a pile where the ground should have been flat. Anxiously clawing my way into the dirt mound, I found his boot knife and a pistol. "Lesson two," I began, taking the gun into my hands to feel the weight, "Always have a contingency plan." Examining the gun was when I noticed the manufacturer's inscription: Batarian State Arms – Judgment Line. The irony was rich. As for the knife, I could tell it was sharpened recently. Inside the holster was a small note.

"_One round. Use it wisely. Strap the knife inside your boot. Three-quarter turn. You have my head and your mom's heart. Don't waste it, Shepard. Survive."_

That was lesson number three: survive. My mother's weapon was her sharp tongue. My father's was his unyielding will. If I was going to escape this hell, I'd need an abundance of both.


	3. Chapter 2 -- Dust

"The Cathartic Void" by S.P. Turner

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***Note: This chapter contains a suggestive situation and violence. For mature readers only. Songs for previous chapters have been updated - Better flow now. Apologies and my thanks!***

((Chapter Song: "Radioactive" by Imagine Dragons))

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Chapter 2 – Dust

Every now and then I wonder which was harder to do… Watch my home and very world be torn apart, or trying to survive those three days on Mindoir. Of course, this was thirteen years before my knowledge of the Reapers, which threatened the fate of the entire galaxy. The damage they did made the Batarians' work of the colony look like child's play. Then again, there are few things more dangerous than a kid playing around with a loaded gun. Luckily I had used one before.

Elijah had an old shotgun that he used to hunt varren, and as I got older, it became target practice. "Stay out of the line of sight. Hold your breath. Shoot just before you exhale." Clean shot right through the heart. A quick kill with a varren is the best kill. It was most respectful of the animal while also keeping yourself out of harm's way. That way of life that I occasionally resented for being "old-fashioned" became extinct within a matter of days. Years later, people would work together to rebuild the colony, but it would never be what it once was. That's how quickly your luck and life can change. One minute, you're growing crops and pushing a plough. The next minute, you're carrying a pistol and a boot knife just trying to stay alive.

To those who will regale their friends and loved ones with tales of "The Shepard," my three days of survival will either be lost or completely watered down. I'll be the fearless woman with unparalleled strength and courage of conviction that surpassed every expectation, hurdled every obstacle, and crushed every enemy in her path. Hell, they'll make me into some sort of superhero… but even heroes are afraid sometimes; anyone who says otherwise is either naive or ignorant of the truth. Every encounter with the Reapers, every time I risked my life in combat, was I determined to stay alive? Without question. But I was nearly equally scared that every breath I took could be my last. Those three days on Mindoir were no exception.

The first two days were spent trying to find some source of clean water. The Batarians left quite the path of destruction in their wake. In order to get what I needed, I had to resort to their tactics. I had to salvage whatever I could from their raids, which wasn't much. Thankfully, the colony was known for making the most out of little and again, only taking what was necessary. Took some digging, pun intended, but I managed to find two canteens filled with water. A lucky find, I know; colonists were always prepared for a rainy day. Granted this was more like torrential downpour, but I was thankful for what I could get. Food was the luxury in this case. Elijah taught me early on that the body can survive without water for maybe two or three days, and was for more important than food consumption. Rationing the water was the key, and the Alliance couldn't come soon enough. All I could do was wait it out, try to stay out of sight and never stay in one place for more than several hours. Elijah's words resonated in my mind, "Be ready to move."

The third and final day was the hardest fo them all and the most memorable. Not only was I rescued by an Alliance patrol, but merely a few hours before, I had made my first kill.

Not a varren… a *real* kill.

Searching burned down homes for salvage is a dangerous business… particularly when you cross paths with a couple of Batarians doing the same thing. I took more time than necessary to rest after trying to search wreckage for supplies. No clips, no water, no bandages; coming up empty was the norm. What wasn't the norm was the climate. The elements had become harsh and they were beginning to take a heavy toll on me. I nearly blacked out when I heard a combination of footsteps and breaking twigs, which jerked me awake. A quick decision was needed.

Couldn't run. If I did, I took the chance of being shot in the back. Instead, I chose to stick with home field advantage and face them down. Either way, it was a major risk, but I recalled lessons one and two from dear old Dad. Then I realized I had another thing going for me: my youth. On the surface, I didn't appear to be much of a threat at all. Still sitting in the dirt, I brought my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs. They would see this as me submitting to their control. All I had to do was sit there and let them do the work of luring themselves in.

They were only a few feet away now, loud enough for me to hear them talking. "Well what do we have here?" one of them asked in a sign-song tone. The Batarian pair approached me calmly and stood directly in front of me, falsely sensing that I wasn't dangerous. Exactly what I wanted.

One of them knelt and brushed my long hair over my right shoulder. He then grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. I complied. "Pretty little thing though, isn't she?" he inquired almost seductively.

"Oh yeah. Think we should have some fun with her?" I took a deep breath, collecting my thoughts. My reaction time would have to be fast; my fate was going to be decided in the next forty seconds.

The Batarian continued to hold my emerald gaze. "If you promise to be a good girl, we just might let you live." He leaned into my face, about to take advantage. "So will you be good?" he asked, awaiting a response.

I whispered very softly, so he would have to lean in more for my answer. His lips nearly touched mind when the word "no" released my lips. With my left hand I reached the hilt of my knife, slightly protruding from my right boot. Quickly pulling it out, my arm went full force with the knife into the neck, directly into his left carotid artery. The other Batarian standing over me reacted fast, pulling out his pistol.

Obviously I was faster.

I had my Judgment line pistol tucked underneath my shirt and immediately grabbed it with my right hand, aimed and shot straight through the heart. He fell to the ground without delay. My Batarian "suitor" however, was suffering a more painful death, bleeding from the neck profusely. He was far too concerned with his fatal wound to grab for me. There was just one thing left to do.

"_Three-quarter turn."_ I grabbed the knife's hilt and tightly turned it like a corkscrew. Now they both were certainly dead. Judgment delivered.

Looking at the bodies was both sobering and bittersweet, but I was alive. Survival at any cost was the objective and when I saw the Alliance shuttles in the sky, I knew I had accomplished it. So much had happened in such a short time; it was so surreal that I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. I was moving in slow motion, my thoughts trying to catch up with my brain. My eyesight became blurry as I saw flashes of lights in the distance. I held up my left hand, shielding myself from the glare. I heard shouting. "Over there! Looks like a survivor!" I prayed it was the Alliance. Dehydrated, I shuffled forward another few steps as a squad of armor-clad humans approached. The last thing I remember was falling to my knees, the dust of a world that once was now collecting around me. One of the soldiers rushed to my side, hoisted my body and placed me on a stretcher.

That was the last of my days on Mindoir and I had made up my mind to never go back. Life would never be the same. My home was gone. My parents were dead. I'd be lying if I said I didn't take some solace in killing those Batarians… One for my mother; one for my father. There's a saying that heroes are born on the battlefield, and some choose to make those heroes into gods. But what they forget is that those heroes have blood, and even they must spill it sometimes.


End file.
